


A Trump in the Night: A Donald Trump Horror Story

by TheAnnoyingAlien



Category: Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: 2016 Presidential Election, Character Death, Gen, Halloween, fictional candidates, no terribly graphic violence but there is still some violence in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-29 04:32:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5115842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAnnoyingAlien/pseuds/TheAnnoyingAlien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's October 2016, and Rosa Reynosa, a young Mexican woman working as an intern to the Democratic presidential nominee, is taking her usual route home from the Capitol one evening after a long day of helping her boss with her campaign. But this is no ordinary trip home. The Trump in the Night is upon her, and there is no escaping him...</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Trump in the Night: A Donald Trump Horror Story

**Author's Note:**

> This is something that I originally started writing for my school magazine's Halloween horror story contest, but I went over the word limit for it so I decided to not submit it and to just post it here instead. I thought a horror story about Donald Trump would be perfect since he's pretty horrifying enough on his own already haha... I'm not really sure if I was trying to make this story funny or scary or both, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. Have a happy Halloween everyone!

It was a dark, foggy October evening in Washington D.C., and outside of the Senate chamber within the north wing of the Capitol, a young government intern stood waiting. She was dressed fashionably in a pink business dress and heavy black overcoat, and she clutched a manila folder full of campaign posters tightly to her chest. Her name was Rosa, Rosa Reynosa, and she was a beautiful young Mexican woman with a warm, cheery smile and a heart as big as her political ambitions. 

She hoped one day to achieve some sort of high office, perhaps a governorship or maybe even a seat in one of the houses of Congress if she were lucky, but that would not be for a while. She was young, and not yet well-versed in the political world. She needed to build up some experience first, which she had started doing by working an internship as an assistant to Cindy Solorio, a socialist senator from Massachusetts who had won the Democratic presidential nomination and who, Rosa hoped, would be elected to the presidency the following month. 

It wasn't always easy work, but Rosa enjoyed it nonetheless, and she really respected and revered the Senator. Solorio was a good woman, and if she were elected, she wanted to be remembered as more than just the first female president. She wanted to (and most certainly would) change the world. Rosa glanced down at her watch, letting some of her soft, bouncy black curls fall into her face, and noted that it was getting late. She idled for a few minutes more until the Senate finally finished convening for the evening. As the doors to the chamber swung open, Rosa moved aside to let all the Senators out, waiting patiently for her boss. Soon enough, the presidential hopeful waltzed into the north wing, appearing powerful, pretty, and personable with her wavy, sandy-blonde hair tucked back by a headband and professional white pantsuit. She noticed Rosa off to the side, flashed the intern a friendly smile, and broke away from the mass of other Senators to approach her. Rosa handed her the folder, and Solorio nodded approvingly.

"Thank you, Rosar." She thanked the intern, pronouncing her name with a distinct Boston accent. "I really appreciate you getting these printed for me on such short notice".

"No problem, Senator." Rosa replied. "Do you need anything else this evening?"

"No thank you, that'll be all for today." Solorio declined, tucking the manila folder securely under her arm. "I'm going to head home now; would you like me to give you a ride back to your apartment?" She offered.

"That's very kind of you, Senator, but that won't be necessary." Rosa assured her. "I'm just going to take the Metro home. Federal Triangle Station isn't a very long walk from here, and as you can see, I could really use the exercise." She laughed, jokingly gesturing to herself. Solorio wasn't laughing, however. A look of worry crossed her face.

"Are you sure, Rosar?" She prodded. "I know I don't normally pass by Vienna on my drive home, but it's really no trouble for me at all, and it's not safe for you to be out and about this late at night. He might find you." Rosa’s giggling ceased; she knew immediately who her boss was alluding to. 

About a month ago, Donald Trump, the Republican presidential nominee and Solorio’s opponent, had experienced a bit of a mishap after using an experimental hair treatment that contained radioactive isotopes. Instead of killing or sickening him, as radiation normally did to people, it had had an alarming side effect. Every single night following the treatment, Trump would mutate into a horrible beast, a beast even worse than the beast he already was during the day. In this animalistic state, he was bigger, stronger, and even more hateful than he was in his normal human form. Trump didn't care about his unusual ailment, however, and instead of seeking a remedy for it, he'd figured out how to utilize it to his advantage. 

Knowing that he would never secure the Hispanic vote due to his intense prejudice, the transformed Trump would traipse around the country late at night, hunting down and killing all the innocent Hispanic people he could find. According to Trump's flawed logic, the more Hispanic Americans he killed, the less people there would be voting against him, and the closer he would come to the presidency.

Hundreds of Hispanic men and women had been slaughtered already, and the public was begging and pleading for the authorities to take action against the "Trump in the Night", as he had quickly been dubbed by the media. However, Trump was spreading money around to the country's already corrupt police departments, and was therefore untouchable in spite of his heinous crimes. It seemed that nobody could trump Trump, and his power and influence in the Republican party were growing as high as his body count. 

Rosa, though she was Mexican and knew very well how prone that made her to being attacked, was more worried about Trump beating her boss in the election next month than becoming one of his nightly victims.

"I appreciate your concern, Senator, but you shouldn't worry yourself over me." She said to Solorio as the two of them began to make their way out of the north wing. "I've been paying attention to the news, and the last Trump attack was all the way in California. I doubt that he'll strike the D.C. area anytime soon." The Senator was not convinced, however.

"Are you really sure?" She asked again. "You're not just my intern, Rosar. You're my friend, and I'm worried for you. I couldn't bear to see you dead at the hands of my opponent!" Rosa smiled. That was just like the Senator's caring nature.

"You're a very compassionate woman, Senator, and that is part of what will make you a great president." She replied. "But please, don't worry about me. Worry about the campaign. Worry about beating Trump and finding a way to end to his violence. Worry about creating a better America for everyone. That's what you should worry about, not me." Solorio's fears remained unassuaged despite her intern's words, and as the two of them exited the Capitol and headed down to her parking space, she began to tremble. 

"Rosar, please," She begged, her voice breaking as she turned to face the young woman, "Please let me give you a ride!" She was shaking so badly now that as she fished her car keys out of her pocket, the shaking loosened her grip, and the keys fell to the pavement with a loud clink. Rosa bent down to pick them up and placed them gently back into the Senator's hand.

"I'll be fine, Senator. I promise you." She assured her. "Nothing bad's going to happen to me. I'll show up at your office tomorrow morning ready to assist you as usual." Solorio remained silent, but realizing that nothing she said would change her intern's mind, she clasped her fingers tightly around her keys and unlocked her car. Rosa smiled her usual warm, bubbly smile and gave the Senator a comforting pat on the shoulder. 

"Have a good night, Senator. I'll see you in the morning." With that, she turned on her heels and began making her way towards Federal Triangle Station. Solorio took a deep breath, climbed into her car, and gripped the steering wheel tightly, trying her best to steady her nerves as she watched her friend become smaller and smaller in the distance. When she could no longer see her, the Senator let out an uneasy sigh and started the engine. She had half a mind to go and follow Rosa, but she knew that would be pointless. If there was one thing she had learned about the girl, it was that if she had her mind set on a goal, she would debate, negotiate, and hold her ground until she got what she wanted. While that made her an effective intern and would most definitely make her an effective politician one day, Solorio wished that she had been a bit more accepting of her help. She cast one final look in Rosa's direction, though by now she was long gone, pressed her foot to the gas pedal, and pulled out of the Capitol parking lot. All the Senator could do now was hope for the best.

Rosa, meanwhile, had covered quite a bit of distance and was fast approaching Federal Triangle Station. The night was quiet aside from the sound of her high heels clicking softly against the sidewalk, and it was cold out, so very cold. She folded her arms across her chest as she approached the entrance to the station, making a mental note to dress in more layers the following day. Suddenly, she heard what sounded like heavy footsteps, very different from the gentle click of her heels, and she paused. The footsteps immediately ceased. Rosa glanced over her shoulder, wondering if somebody was following her, but there was not a single soul in sight.

"Hmm... I must be hearing things." She thought to herself. She continued on her way, but hesitated again when the heavy footsteps resumed, this time accompanied by an eerie voice drifting through the night, repeating a familiar mantra.

"You're fired. You're fired." 

Rosa's eyes widened, and her face went pale. She knew that phrase well, and knew exactly who it was associated with. 

"Trump!" She exclaimed, whipping around and frantically surveying her surroundings. The street once again appeared empty, but the footsteps and mantra continued. 

"You're fired. You're fired."

Alarmed, Rosa quickened her pace as she made her way onto the escalator and rode it below ground to the Metro. She reached into her pocket and withdrew her Metro card, hurriedly scanning it and rushing through the turnstiles out onto the platform. As she stood waiting for the next train to arrive, she could still hear the same steps and chant, albeit a bit fainter.

"You're fired. You're fired."

Rosa's heart beat hard within her chest, and she began to hyperventilate. Realizing that she was vulnerable and visible, she ducked behind a nearby sign in a vain attempt to hide. She crouched down, curling into a ball and pressing her body as close to the sign as she could in order to conceal herself. She tried to steady her breathing and, cautiously, she raised her head so she could get a view of the neon orange and red lettering displaying the train schedules. She noticed that the train to Vienna Station, the station nearest to her apartment, was to arrive in three minutes. She took a deep breath and lowered her head once more as she continued her wait. The footsteps weren't faint anymore, they had gotten louder, much louder, as had the mantra. Rosa scrunched her eyes shut and threw her hands over her ears, not wanting to hear it. She repeated her own mantra in her head, but it did little to drown out Trump's.

"Three minutes and you're safe. Three minutes and you're safe. Three minutes and you're safe." 

"You're fired. You're fired."

"Three minutes and you're safe. Three minutes and you're safe. Three minutes and you're-" 

"-FIRED. YOU'RE FIRED."

Rosa shivered. She was really starting to regret not taking up Senator Solorio's offer of a ride. Then, she heard a familiar screeching noise, and hesitantly raised her head again. She spied two glowing pinpricks of light at the end of the tunnel. The lights grew larger and the screeching grew louder, as the Orange Line train to Vienna came barreling into the station before finally coming to a halt in front of the platform. The second the doors slid open, Rosa ran out from her hiding place and darted inside. She pressed up against the wall of the empty car, trying once again to conceal herself, and, after what seemed like forever, the doors slid closed, sealing her in.

She breathed a sigh of relief and flopped down into an empty plastic orange seat as the train sped off towards Vienna. She could relax now; she was safe.

SMASH!

Or perhaps she wasn't. Bits of broken glass rained down around her, glinting in the bright lights of the car as they dropped to the floor. Rosa jumped up and whipped around, only to see that the window had been smashed. A huge, beastly claw covered in dry, scaly orange skin became visible. It reached in through the window and groped around the car, searching for something to grab onto. Rosa fell back against the other side of the car and screamed, looking on in terror as the claw grasped one of the railings and hoisted the rest of the beast inside. 

She knew that it was Trump, obviously, but he looked very different in this monstrous state. While he still sported the wild, unevenly-hued mass of fluff on his head that he called his hair, he was now twice his normal height, and like his claws the rest of his body was covered in that cracked, dragon-like orange skin. His normally blue eyes had become a deep, menacing shade of Republican red, and he glowered down at the young intern, eyeing her with contempt. He bared his fangs, growling as he prepared to pounce.

"YOU'RE FIRED!" 

Rosa shrieked as he lunged at her, ducking out of the way just in time. Trump crashed against some of the empty seats, shattering them and caving them in. Angered that he had missed her, his face grew red.

"I'LL GET YOU, MEXICAN!" He roared. He charged at her another time, but again she dove out of his path, and he smashed face-first into a pole. Trump screeched in pain and frustration and ripped the pole from its place, snapping it in half with his brute strength before launching it out through the broken window. He raised one of his massive, razor-like claws and slashed at Rosa. This time, she hadn't been quick enough to fully dodge him, and the tips of his claws cut into her stomach. Rosa yelped and collapsed to the floor, hands flying to her fresh, stinging wounds. She looked down, seeing that there were four jagged rips through her dress accompanied by four deep cuts across her belly. They weren’t life-threatening, thankfully, but they hurt badly. Rosa knew that she couldn't let the pain hinder her, though. She had to stay focused; she had to survive. 

As Trump loomed over her, preparing to strike again, she rolled out of the way and staggered to her feet. She weaved between poles and vaulted over seats as she darted about in the train, trying her best to stay a step ahead of the monster pursuing her. But Rosa was not blessed with the same superhuman strength and agility as Trump, and she soon began to tire. With the last of her energy, she grabbed part of a smashed pole and walloped Trump over the head with it, stunning him momentarily. Breathless, she collapsed against a row of broken seats, her black curls messy and damp with sweat, hands pressed over the bleeding gashes in her stomach as her head and heart pounded wildly. 

She couldn't hold out much longer, and she knew that she was trapped with Trump until the train pulled into Vienna Station, which wouldn't be for several more minutes. Realizing how imminent death was for her, she began to weep. Even if she managed to make it through the rest of the train ride with him, there was no way she could outrun Trump all the way back to her apartment.

Rosa cried out as she felt Trump suddenly grab her very roughly by the shoulders. She found herself face to face with him, and she screamed as his claws burrowed into her flesh, securing her in his grasp. She scratched and kicked at him, digging her heels into his skin in a vain attempt to get him to let go, but the gashes were as insignificant to him as papercuts. He cackled evilly, wrenching Rosa off of the ground and holding her high above his head. Her feet dangled limply in front of his mouth, and she locked eyes with him, her terrified brown ones meeting with his wicked red ones.

"You know, I really, really hate Mexicans," Trump drawled, "BUT I LOVE MEXICAN FOOD!"

"NO!" Rosa shrieked, squirming and wriggling as he started lowering her feet into his gaping maw. She shouted and flailed around, desperately searching for something to hang on to. She managed to grab a fistful of his hair, and she yanked it hard. Trump let out a pained howl, and his grip on her slackened. Rosa, noting this apparent weakness, grabbed some more hair in her other hand and yanked even harder, hoping it would make him release her. To her surprise, it did much more than that. With a sickening tearing sound, she ripped Trump's hair clean off, and he shrieked in agony as blood began oozing from his scalp. He shriveled and shrunk, dropping Rosa and collapsing motionless to the floor of the car. Rosa stood there, stunned, clutching the bloody, ratty pile of yellow-orange fluff much like she had clutched the Senator's campaign posters earlier as she stared in awe at Trump's limp body. 

It looked like he was dead, but she wasn't too sure. She didn’t make a single movement or take her eyes off of him until the train finally pulled into Vienna Station. The second the doors slid open, she dropped Trump's hair near his body, ran out of the car, through the turnstiles, up the escalator, and didn't stop running until she was safely back in her apartment. 

After locking and deadbolting the door, she fell to her knees, exhausted, bloody, and aching. Tears streamed down her face, and she couldn't get them to stop. Everything was alright now, and nobody would ever have to worry about Trump again, but she was well aware that she had almost lost her life that night. Just knowing how close she had come to death was enough to keep her a wreck. Eventually, after what seemed like many hours, she managed to collect herself, and she rose from the floor. She limped into her bathroom, cleaned herself of the blood, bandaged up her wounds, and then went to bed, still shaken from her encounter with the beast.

The next morning, Rosa was awoken by the stinging of her wounds and beeping of her alarm clock. She winced as she painfully crawled out of bed, threw on a robe, and headed into the kitchen to brew herself a pot of coffee. Knowing that she would have to leave for Senator Solorio's office in about an hour, she decided to turn on the news while the coffee was brewing. She grabbed the remote and switched on the TV, listening intently as she searched through her cabinets for a mug. 

"Donald Trump was found dead this morning at Vienna Station in Fairfax County, Virginia." She heard the news anchor announce. "The police believe that the death is accidental, and they say that they will not be conducting any further investigations. The Republican party will be reconvening later this week in order to nominate a new candidate, and Congress will be meeting to discuss whether or not they should push Election Day back in order to give them time to regroup."

RING! RING! RING!

Rosa jumped at the sudden noise, nearly dropping her mug in the process. The phone was ringing off the hook. She set the mug down on the counter and went to answer it. On the other end of the line was Senator Solorio, distraught and crying hysterically.

The Senator had also been watching the news and was worried that Trump had killed her friend. Rosa assured her boss that she was fine, just a little shaken and cut up, and pointed out that no one would ever have to worry about Trump ever again. That seemed to calm Solorio down a bit. She offered the intern the day off-insisted upon it, actually-and Rosa accepted. She graciously thanked the Senator and bid her good luck with her affairs for the day before hanging up the phone.

The coffee maker beeped, and Rosa poured herself a mugful. Sitting down at the small kitchen table with her mug in hand, she swung one leg over the other and took a long drink, feeling proud and at peace. Because of her, the Republican party was at a major disadvantage in the election, giving the Democrats an upper hand. Solorio would surely win-that is, unless Congress decided to move Election Day back and buy the Republicans some more time. 

Even if they did that, Rosa could care less. She was confident that Solorio would prevail nonetheless, and at the moment she was just happy that she and her fellow Hispanic Americans could rest easy now. They were safe, the danger was past, and they would never again have to worry about encountering another Trump in the night.

The End


End file.
